


untitled ficlet

by seimaisin



Category: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-12
Updated: 2004-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a secret being kept somewhere - well, of course, this is the Drom crew, there are secrets all over the damned place, but this time, there's one in particular ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled ficlet

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the scenic Macon Drift, home of several million truly awful smelling people."

"Harper ..." Dylan did not sound like he was in the mood for the engineer's travelogue.

"He's right," Beka drawled. "Last time we left this place, I took four showers a day for a week."

"Not me," Harper announced proudly.

"And you continue to smell like last week's refuse," Tyr put in.

"Hey! I do not smell!" Harper twisted in the pilot's chair and threw an imploring look at Trance. "I don't smell, do I?"

The purple girl shrugged. "Well, not that much ..."

"People," Dylan interrupted, an edge to his voice. "No one has explained to me why we've stopped at this very fragrant Drift."

"Engine parts," Harper said, hopping out of his seat. "They have a great black market for slipstream drives. If you want this boat ..."

"Hey!" Rommie's android body was powered down, but the ship's voice echoed across the bridge like a slap to Harper's face.

He continued smoothly. "...this gorgeous, beautiful piece of machinery to continue ferrying us across space and time, we need new parts."

As the engineer continued to ramble at Dylan, Tyr quietly moved behind the captain, stopping next to Beka. He leaned past her to pick up a data pad. On the way down, his lips brushed her ear. "Is the meeting set?"

Beka nodded, repressing a shudder. Damn, he might be a stupid uber bastard, but he had some moves. As he stood back up straight, his arm dragged against the bare skin of her own. She avoided looking him in the eye, partly because she didn't really want anyone else on the bridge to know they'd been talking, but partly because she knew his expression would be one of amusement. He knew exactly what his physical presence did to her. Arrogant troll.

Sometimes, she allowed herself the fantasy of having that perfect huge body in her bed. Tied up, preferrably, with a variety of fun toys that might even make a Nietzschean whimper. But, in the end, self-preservation always won out. She and Tyr would probably destroy each other, and why do that, when they could help each other out in so many other ways?

Beka grinned to herself, and thought of her greasy little contact down in a bar that smelled like a trash heap. Whoever would have thought that a greasemonkey and a Niet would possibly be her ticket to easy street? Now, all she had to do was keep her cool, and the cash would be hers.


End file.
